


Know Thyself

by eiluned



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Identity, Introspection, Loss of Identity, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Self-Acceptance, Vignette, and a little bit of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiluned/pseuds/eiluned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For someone who could make herself into literally anyone, Natasha really didn't know who she actually was deep inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know Thyself

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jo, Brittany, and Amanda for the beta work and cheerleading.
> 
> Feedback feeds my soul. ♥

He found her.

He always found her, and it was a source of both frustration and relief. She could never just disappear because he would root her out, could never be completely alone because he was always a step behind her.

It took her years to realize that she didn't actually want to be completely alone.

* * *

But this time was a little different. It wasn't fear that made her disappear, though fear would probably be the smartest emotion she could feel. Or, it was fear, but not because her identity was blown wide open. It was fear that she wasn't good enough. That she wasn't trustworthy enough, and she needed to hide for a while, to lick her wounds and figure out how the hell she was going to face the world again, who she would be when she emerged from this cocoon.

For someone who could make herself into literally anyone, Natasha really didn't know who she actually was deep inside.

After her testimony, after her face and voice and name were plastered all over television, after she gave Steve that file and bade Fury farewell, she disappeared.

She sold her car, broke her lease, packed the things she couldn't live without, and disappeared.

* * *

Clint found her in a rented room in Charlotte Amalie, nursing sunburnt cheeks and shoulders, shuffling through the sheaf of papers that made up who she was.

Correction: that made up the Black Widow.

Natasha still wasn't sure who she was.

"Took you long enough," she said without looking up. There was a handgun taped to the underside of the table, but she recognized Clint's footfalls. Hell, she would recognize him anywhere.

"Well, you did an impressive disappearing job considering," he replied, closing the door behind himself.

She took a deep breath of humid air scented with the plumeria growing outside the windows. "I don't know who I am anymore, Clint," she said.

The words and her tone were so matter-of-fact that she surprised herself. She thought she had come here to construct a new identity, but that had been a pervasive thought in the back of her mind, that with S.H.I.E.L.D. gone, her job gone, that she was a non-entity.

She couldn't find herself in the years of training and false identities and malleable allegiances.

(Things hadn't been that malleable for a while; she was loyal to Fury and now to Steve but always to Clint.)

"You're Natasha," Clint said simply.

His answer made her grind her teeth. It wasn't that simple, not for her. He may always be Clint Barton, but who the hell was Natasha Romanoff in the first place? The blood-soaked child in the Red Room? Or the lost little girl before that? The KGB spy? The killer-for-hire? The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent–

"I thought I was doing the right thing with S.H.I.E.L.D. I was on the side of good, but… it turns out I was just doing the same things I did before: lying, stealing, killing… destabilizing everything I thought I was propping up. I thought I'd finally grown a conscience," she said, the words bitter in her mouth. "But I was just being used by HYDRA to do the same shit I had always done. It was just prettied up with the idea that I was doing it for the good guys."

"So what, you think we're defined by what those manipulative sons of bitches did through us? Because I don't believe that, Nat. We're not… cursed forever because we've done bad shit, even if we thought we were doing it for the right reasons. And you can't convince me that we did nothing right, even though HYDRA had their fingers in everything."

At the top of the stack of papers was her most basic identity, Natalia Alianovna Romanova, the girl born in Leningrad in 1984. She traced her finger over the Cyrillic letters, the aging paper. "I just… I don't know if I'm trustworthy anymore," she said, keeping her eyes on the yellowing paper. "Fury had me run the missions when he got suspicious of Project Insight, but when he was in danger, he went to Steve. He didn't know if I was with them. He couldn't trust me. And in the end, he trusted me to do what was right, but I don't know if I'm even qualified to decide what's right and wrong. Everything's a lie."

"Everything?" he said, his voice quiet, and her stomach sank at the hurt in that one little word.

"No, not… damn it," she said with a heavy sigh, putting her head down on the cool melamine table. "Not everything."

The arrow necklace hadn't been off of her neck in weeks, not since she put it on when they got back from the Lemurian Star. She had even worn it during her testimony, something the old Natasha would never have done. Spies don't wear their hearts on their sleeves, and they certainly don't wear jewelry that advertises a lover's identity so obviously as a tiny silver arrow.

But spies also wouldn't have spilled their own secrets out where anyone could read them. Spies wouldn't have gone before a DoD committee with news cameras rolling, no matter what jewelry they wore.

Maybe she wasn't a spy anymore.

Maybe she could be something different. Something better.

The other chair scraped over the tile floor as Clint pulled it out from the table. "I know," he said, and she lifted her head to find a tired little smile on his face.

Her own lips curved as she reached up to tug at the arrow pendant. It and the chain had left a white mark on her skin in the midst of a fading sunburn, and she didn't know if there was a more obvious way for her to wear her heart on her sleeve than that.

"So what do we do now?" she said. "We can't be agents anymore. What do we do?"

"Well," Clint said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head, "I was thinking about opening a bar in Iowa–"

Natasha let out a snort of laughter. "Yeah, and I'll start my own party planning business," she replied. "What do we do, though? It's not like our skill sets will translate all that well to the private sector. Or… they could translate very well, but I don't know if I want to work for the kind of people who want my skill set."

Leaning over, he snagged the strap of his bag and dug a phone out of the front pocket. "Got a job offer from Stark," he said, pulling up an email and passing the phone to her.

She skimmed the conversation, a feeling somewhere between disbelief and hope bubbling in her stomach. "So… what? We become heroes? Is that even a legitimate job?" she said, handing the phone back.

Clint shrugged with one shoulder, turning the phone off and tucking it back into the bag. "He made it sound like we'd work for Stark Industries, R&D, that sort of crap, but basically we'd re-form the Avengers when we're needed," he said. "Now that S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone, we need somebody to watch our backs. I sure as shit don't trust the CIA or the military to do it."

"But heroes," she repeated, lifting her hair off the back of her neck, chewing on the thought. "I don't know if I'm hero material."

"I grew up reading Captain America comic books. I always wanted to be a hero, but I grew up to be a criminal instead," Clint said with a humorless laugh. "I thought I could be something like a hero with S.H.I.E.L.D. but… well, you know how that worked out. I think I want to take Stark up on the offer. I know it's not the same for you, Nat, but… don't sell yourself short."

She huffed, pulling a hair pin out of her pocket and twisting her hair up and out of her face. "I've lived my whole life in the shadows," she said.

"But you're out in the light now," Clint pointed out.

And he was right; they were all out in the cold light of day, their names and faces and identities and all of the things they had done in the name of S.H.I.E.L.D. (and worse). It was terrifying, to know her ledger was open for anyone to peruse, but in the back of her mind, there was another thought. It was terrifying, yes, but it was also exhilarating. She couldn't hide anymore. She couldn't pretend to be something better.

She had to actually _be_ something better.

Maybe it was time to balance her ledger, to really even things out. As foreign as it felt, she wanted to be someone worthy of Steve Rogers's trust, of Nick Fury's.

Of Clint's.

"I'll think about it," she said, and the half-grin on his face said he knew what that answer meant.

They ended up tangled together in her narrow bed, an old oscillating fan blowing a breeze across their bodies.

"Thank you," she said softly, twining her fingers with his where they rested on her stomach.

"Mm," Clint replied, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. "You're welcome. What for?"

The smile that curved her lips felt good. "For letting me feel like myself when I'm with you."


End file.
